The Art of Letter Writing
by liberator of captured angels
Summary: Lirael struggles with the words in a letter to Nick. Set between 'Abhorsen' and 'Nicholas Sayre and the Creature in the Case'.


"_The writing was so regular, so perfectly spaced and free of ink splotches that Nick wondered if it had been copied from a rough version. If it had what did that mean? Did Lirael always make fine copies of her letters? Or had she done it just for him?"_

_**Nicholas Sayre and the Creature in the Case**_

**Disclaimer: **everything within this belongs to Garth Nix, including the letter, which was taken from his novella, "_Nicholas Sayre and the Creature in the Case_"

**The Art of Letter Writing**

Lirael dipped her quill into the inkwell, preparing to write on her handmade paper. Her writing was clear and even, and she rarely made blots. Her time as Second Assistant Librarian in the great Library of the Clayr had given her ample opportunity to perfect her writing skills, as in those days she spoke as little as possible, preferring to write notes if she needed something.

She struggled with the words, which was not uncommon for her speech, but almost unheard of in her writing, which she could hide her awkwardness in. Then again, perhaps it was because she was not used to writing things of a personal nature. She wrote _notes_ not _letters_.

Then again, that was when she was Second Assistant Librarian Lirael, not Abhorsen-in-Waiting and Remembrancer Lirael. That said, what _did_ you write to someone who had spent time as an avatar for an entity known as the Destroyer? What did you write to someone who had not believed in magic before entering the Old Kingdom, only to have his very blood filled with immensely powerful free magic, and become baptised with the charter by one of the Nine Bright Shiners after death? Only to be brought _back_ into life again, thrust into a world he knew nothing about, a world where he was not the same person he had been before.

Perhaps she should start with niceties. Yes, she should ask if he had recovered from his injuries, which, after all were not insubstantial. _Dear Nick, _she wrote, _I trust you are recovering well._ Hmm. What next? She couldn't write whole paragraphs on his injuries. Perhaps she should write about herself. She didn't like writing about herself, but at least she _knew_ what to write.

_I am much better, and Sam says my new hand will be ready soon._ Yes, it was thanks to Nick that Sam had been given the idea for her golden hand that was in the making. He had told of his meeting in Death with the Disreputable Dog, and she had mentioned that Sam would make her a hand made of gold, and she would be known as Lirael Goldenhand.

_Ellimere has been teaching me tennis, a game from your country, but I really do need two hands._ "Stupid!" she thought. He would _know _that tennis was from his country. She was in the midst of scoring it out, when she realised that she was ruining the neatness of the page. She would have to copy it in again.

What could she write about now, she pondered while chewing on her quill, a habit she'd never had as Second Assistant librarian. She was suddenly nervous, though she couldn't fathom why. She extracted the quill from her mouth, dipped it into the inkwell, and started writing. _I have also started to work with the Abhorsen. _For she supposed he would want to know of her duties as Abhorsen-in-Waiting. _Sabriel, I mean, though I still find it hard to call her that._ That line brought a smile to her as she remembered something from just after the Destroyer had been rebound, and they had discovered Nicholas was alive._ I still laugh when I remember you calling her "Mrs Abhorsen, Ma'am Sir."_ That had brought a laugh from Sabriel, she remembered. It had made the Abhorsen seem a little less forbidding than the title suggested._ I was surprised by that laugh, amidst such sorrow and pain._

_It was a strange day, wasn't it? Waiting for everything to be discussed and sorted and explained just enough so we could all go home, with the two of us laying side by side on our stretchers with so much going on all around._ She remembered it well. It had been so anticlimactic. She had been expecting to die, and Nick had _actually _died, and it had all been so different from their expectations. She felt a stab of pain as she remembered just _why_ she had not died as she had expected to, and suddenly knew what to write.

_You made it better for me, telling me about my friend the Disreputable Dog. I am very grateful for that._ She was very grateful. The fact that Nick had seen her in death, and that the Dog had enough power to bring Nick back to life gave her hope that the Dog might walk the Old Kingdom again, in a form other than the bells of Kibeth.

She was worried now, about what Nick might think of her sending the letter. He might not want a letter from her, might not understand why. Perhaps she could remedy this, clarify her reasons for sending the letter. _That is why I'm writing, really, and Sam said he was sending something, so this could go with it._

She thought about Nicholas as she had last seen him. It had been so different from when she first saw him, in the Pit and then in the reed boat on the Red Lake. Then there had been no awkwardness, as she faced him in her capacity as Abhorsen-in-Waiting, and this was a duty charged to her by the Clayr. The last time she had seen him, there had been awkwardness, as he was an almost acquaintance. She told herself that the awkwardness sprang from the fact that she was unused to forming friendships with people. She was distracted now, and had blotted the paper. Now she would _definitely_ have to rewrite the letter.

She thought that perhaps she should write to congratulate him. Sam had told her that he thought Nick had gone back to Ancelstierre because there was a lady he admired and did not want to leave behind. She had almost written it in, but scored it out when she realised it might be none of her business.

At last came the ending. She knew how to sign it off. _Lirael, Abhorsen-in-Waiting and Remembrancer._ It was what came before that, she struggled with.

_Yours truly_?she wondered. No.

_Yours sincerely_? Again, no.

_Love,_ as some people signed off? No!

At last, she settled for _Be Well_. After all, it was a well-wishing as well as a farewell.

She copied the letter on to a fresh piece of paper, and admired its neatness and the evenness of her writing.

"Oh no!" she cried. She'd forgotten to take out the line about tennis!


End file.
